DEATH OF ANOTHER FRIEND

THE OLD RUSTY NAIL

AN E-JOURNAL FOR OLD PEOPLE

Russell Burton, an Old Person

First I want to let my readers know that I am not fixated on death even though I have written about it before which is expected because it does occur around me much more frequently than when I was younger.  And naturally it has become more common because the older a person gets more friends have died. So, as death occurs more often it is a bigger part of my life. Still I must be careful not to dwell on it too much for that is surely a recipe for depression, which is to say there is not much about death that is jolly.

My friend Bob died this last summer of 2014 while I was living in my condo in upstate New York.  He lived much of his life in San Antonio where I live most of the year.  I got to know him many years ago when I joined a local art group which operates a gallery.  We both served together at the gallery as volunteers one day a month.  We were both watercolorists.  I think he was a better artist although that would be difficult to gauge for our paintings were of much different subjects. 

He loved to play golf so many of his paintings were of golf course greens which he had played sometime.  When someone would admire a certain painting he would remark that it brought back memories of when he played it.  He was a retired army sergeant so he had lots of time to peruse his two favorite pass times which were of course playing golf and painting.   I did not know his age but I would guess that he was in his mid seventies, just a few years younger than I am.

In upstate New York where I live my summer there are many golf courses and I am sure not nearly as pricey as the ones here in San Antonio.  Several times I invited Bob to visit me during the summer noting the many golf courses he could play there.  But, we just talked about it.

Not all of his art work was golf course landscapes.  His most famous painting of which he sold many prints was of several people all men except for one woman standing in a line in the rain with their umbrellas opened over their heads facing the street waiting for a bus.  They were dressed alike in black suits.  The name of the painting is Commuters.  No doubt this was his signature piece.

I wonder which one of my many watercolor paintings could be called my signature piece.  For me it would be more difficult because I never had a painting of which prints made from it sold many like Bob’s did.  I did a painting which I liked and had prints made but they did not sell well.  So using my popular painting as my signature piece will not work

Gallery volunteers work one day a month.  Our day was the third Wednesday of the month.  The other volunteers for that day are three women so it was natural that we ate lunch together.  We always went to the same restaurant named Shilos pronounced Shelows which is different than its pronunciation as the site of a famous Civil War battle. The food is German, a popular place to eat and it is located on a major street in San Antonio. 

Our gallery is located in the Old Town a few blocks away from Shilos so we always walked.  Our backgrounds and politics were much different still we enjoyed chatting during our walk and while we were eating our lunch.  He always ordered a Ruben Sandwich and I generally ordered the Wednesday special which is meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas and carrots.  To drink I always had their special draft root beer and Bob had iced tea. The subjects of our chats were not important nor do I remember any of them but they were enjoyable for both of us or we would not have done it for so many years. 

As I wrote before, Bob loved playing golf which he did several times a week at his club when his health permitted.  At times he would have some physical ability problems but they would go away and back to golfing he went.  One summer he traveled to the British Isles where he played on several famous ancient golf courses some in Scotland where golf was invented.

The only time we got together was at the gallery except for one evening.  I went to his very nice home to fill in for an absent bridge player.  I hate to do that but he was a friend so I consented.  Why I do hate to take someone’s place is because I do not know any of the players nor do I know their level of bridge skills.  Not that I am a great bridge player but I know a few conventions.  Bridge is a card game which is noted for the players’ ability to tell each other their cards without peaking. Obviously, this requires the use of verbal communication methods called conventions of which there are many.  So, much of the fun is the bidding process to gain some knowledge of your partner’s cards.  Obviously, playing bridge with a person one has met for the first time does present challenges which for me is not fun.

Working at an art gallery requires lots of patients for the day passes very slowly.  We begin our day before 10 in the morning when we open and ends at 6 that evening.  Starting the day so late made our lunch time at about noon come quite early in the work day providing for long boring afternoons.  Still, with friends to talk with who you see but once a month has it pleasures.

Bob was well known and liked by all of the artists for he had been a member of the art group for many years.  In fact he had been their president and because of his lengthy tenure was not required to work in the gallery anymore.  Still he came in regularly sometimes leaving a bit early.  On occasion he kidded me about my abilities doing my job as the gallery greeter. You know someone who welcomed a visitor when that person entered.   

I knew that Bob had some medical problems but I understood that he was improving in that regard so when I left for my summer life in upstate New York, I certainly expected to return to see my friend again at the gallery in the Fall.  Of course it was a shock to hear of his death which occurred suddenly following a fall in his house last summer while I was living in New York.

Falling down in a person’s home is common with us old people and can be very dangerous especially living alone.  I wrote an article before about a friend who died a few years ago who lived alone and fell where she lay for several hours.  And recently here in San Antonio a friend of mine and a TV celebrity Ann B. Davis fell and died in her home.  She too lived alone.

Now that Bob is gone I go to lunch with one of the women gallery friends who I enjoy.  We walk to the same restaurant and have our lunch.  We have enjoyable chats and I do appreciate her company.  Still I miss my friend.

Written 2/15